


There is just a Wall (and nowhere to go)

by SebastianDragon



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternative ending for that particular scene in 1x20, Angst, Gen, Healing, Minor Character Death, Pre-second season, actually written right after 1x20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1296757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebastianDragon/pseuds/SebastianDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles&Bass scene from 1x20 before Bass' capture. Au, alternative ending. Written in June, right after the season finale.<br/>I felt they needed more time to talk.</p><p>Sorry for any possible mistakes, English/American is not my native.<br/>I welcome criticism in any form, excluding cursing:D</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is just a Wall (and nowhere to go)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ivy_B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_B/gifts).



Someday back when we were young,  
I guess something just went wrong.  
The two of us are hung  
From the same twisted rope.  
The Bravery. “Bad Sun”.  
  
Monroe ran, not sparing the ground a single glance, instinctively leaping over the twisted tree roots and ducking the low hanging branches. The bullets from the chopper’s machine gun broke the earth into fountains of dusty clods. Fear and awareness that he for almost sure is going to get hit gave him strength, and so he fled – fled forward, to where the trees crowded more.  
But the chopper – the chopper, that was his own chopper not so long ago – moved much faster.  
Fire ripped through his shin, sending icy-hot spikes of pain through his whole body. Monroe crumpled into the dust, for the first meter mere inertia forcing him to roll the ground, and then stilled, clutching with his hand at the burning wound. The world broke into sharp pieces in front of his eyes – to restore again only to fall apart in shades of gray once more.  
Bass distantly thought about having his head hit against the solid ground.  
“Hands up! Up!” snapped a rough voice from somewhere above.  
The General blinked, trying to stitch the world back together, and lifted his right arm in a half-helpless, half-contemptuous gesture.  
“The other one as well. Faster!”  
“Right, I can’t do it faster, I’m shot”, hissed Monroe and, spitting sand and blood, took his palm back from his own leg.  
He lifted it in one slow smooth motion – from his shin to his waistband where he bore a knife under the jacket of his uniform. There was little chance to succeed, but Bass would rather die than give up to his own men.  
Yet Monroe didn’t get any chance to make move, because the soldier suddenly gasped and dropped to the ground beside the General, splattering him with red drops of warm blood from the gaping wound his throat. A dark figure blocked out the sunlight, brooding over the lying Sebastian. The latter one hesitantly lifted his gaze to look into his savior’s eyes.  
  
Miles stood with an expressionless look on his face; his brown eyes radiating nothing but cold and neglect and blood dripping from a knife in his hand.  
Anger, pain and incomprehension once more twisted Bass’s soul into a bleeding knot – akin to any physical wound and far beyond that. The General shook his head in order to calm himself down. And nearly groaned, when sharp pain shot through his temples.  
Slowly, not wishing to break eye-contact with the man opposite himself, Sebastian brought his fingers to the right side of his head. And, expectedly having his fingers soak in sticky warm blood, indifferently wiped his hand on his uniform.  
Something broke in the coldness of Miles’s gaze. But then the former general let the knife fall onto the ground, turned and started to walk away.  
Bass silently watched his back, unwillingly balling his palms into fists from powerless wrath mixed with desperate bitterness. A tight lump stuck in his throat and traitorous dampness filled his eyes – the ones which were always cold and calm, hiding the truth underneath the thin verges of translucent blue glass.  
The wall of fake estrangement finally broke down to shards, but only one single word was thrown into Matheson’s back:  
“Why?!”  
  
And Monroe’s cry seemed to have blocked Miles’s path, because he froze in his steps and slowly turned to Bass.  
“Why did you do this?” eyes burning with hatred, whispered Monroe.  
“I… I cannot let anyone kill you”, it seemed pronouncing words was hard for Miles, for he was barely heard.  
“Why not do it yourself, then?” Bass quirked an eyebrow and never paying attention on pain nodded at the gun holster on the Matheson’s belt. “Do it! What has changed since then?”  
Miles as if in delirium pulled out the gun, pointed it at Bass never looking at him himself and stilled.  
“So?” Monroe wanted Miles to pull the trigger. Wanted it more than anything ever during his whole life. It’ll be over. There won’t be any misunderstanding left, the pain will drift away, the despair, the constant feeling of devastation and loss… All will be gone with a simple flick of a finger. There will be no more mistakes – there will be only endless peace.  
“Go on”, tore from his lips, his eyes lighting up with a sudden surge of hope.  
Miles was silent and hadn’t moved, and Bass saw how his always firm hand shook for the first (or, maybe, third?) time in their lives.  
Monroe cursed and gritting his teeth from pain awakening in his leg, rose up and made a abrupt move towards Miles, seizing him by the wrist and pressing the barrel to his own forehead.  
“Why are you hesitating?” he whispered heatedly. And then, letting his voice rise up to a shout. “Fuck you, Miles, you had come for that – and you never made it! Here is your third chance, so take it! Take it already”.  
And at last the long restricted tears rolled down his cheeks, making paths in the dirt covering his face.  
  
Miles winced as if in disgust and wrenched the gun from Sebastian’s grip, simultaneously stopping aiming at him and pulling out of his hand. Bass simply stood there for a while, looking at his former friend with disbelief. And then he broke.  
General Monroe collapsed on his knees, helplessly covering his face with his palms, his whole body shuddering.  
“You never even explained anything”, he whispered, trying hard to push down the humiliating sobs, but failing each time. “You just came into my bedroom that night and put a gun to my head when I opened my eyes”.  
Monroe finally gained self control and let his hands fall to his sides. A wicked, twisted grin tugged at his lips:  
“And I was about to ask you if something was wrong, if you needed help. What an irony, eh? You come to kill me and I’m worried about you”.  
"Bass", Miles nearly mouthed his name, yet Bass snapped to attention immediately. "You've crossed the line. All those people, Bass, all those peole - and their families - women, kids - it went too far".  
Tears stopped swelling in Sebastian's eyes, and Monroe took his place: as cold and distant as usual:  
"So you figured it'd be easier to kill me and run away yourself?" he allowed himself a dry chuckle before continuing. "Had you never thought of talking about it? Never imagined that, perhaps, then I had still been capable of understanding? I know you're a man of "do more, talk les", but... Miles?  
Miles shook his head, averting Monroe's eyes.  
"You've always been stronger than me, I've always been sure of that. And you're just gone, you... You fled. You fled without a single word, without any excuse, without as much as a goddamn fucking note. You ran and you left me to think every day, every moment about what I have done wrong".  
"I...", tried Miles, but Monroe cut him off:  
"If we had found strength to talk that night, then maybe we could have saved ourselves from the mistakes we made afterwatds - having the questions unanswered and pressing down upon us for all these years.  
"You wouldn't have understood", Miles said quietly, but his words made Sebastian flinch as if they caused him physical pain, and a hurt look - Bass' look - appeared on his face. "I was your family, you'd have done the same you did to the family of the rebel, who had blown up the restaurant, and you'd have done it as many times as you'd think it to be necessary. And Bass... It's not true. I'm not stronger. Maybe, faster to take action, - but not stronger.  
"Family", Bass gave his former friend a poisonous smile, having caught the right word. "I've been thinking for a while that I'm the only family you have. Well... Thanks for depriving me of my illusions".  
"Bass", Miles said softly. "I did..."  
"You couldn't kill me that night", Sebastian interrupted him once more, swallowing, driving away the tears that threatened to fall again. "But you killed me. You killed me and then made me live. Came back only to kill again - all the remnants that were left from the first time. You don't want to finish it now. So... Which one of us is cruel after all?"  
Matheson flinched and brought the gun up in one swift move. His brown eyes glittered strangely in sunlight.  
"I couldn't kill you, Bass... " he met Monroe's begging gaze but did not tear the contact this time. "And I can't do it now".  
The gun went flying into the dust. Monroe stayed still, eyeing him uncertainly, showing not a single emotion on his face.  
Miles had been a good teacher in this.  
"Cause... Cause we're still brothers", Miles sank to his knees opposite Monroe. "And we will forever stay that. Everything that I had done,everything that I had ever said... I'm sorry for that".  
  
Something inside Bass snapped again, and he shut his eyes, unable to hold back tears any longer.  
Miles reached for him with uncertainty dancing in his eyes and touched his shoulder. Sebastian didn't move and Matheson was ready to retreat, thinking that the contact was unwanted, when Bass himself hugged him with both arms and pressed his forehead against his chest, sobbing and clinging desperately to him.  
Matheson gently gathered him in his arms and pressed to himself, stilling and trying hard to blink back his own tears.  
  
They knew not how long they simply sat there, silently telling each other everything that they had kept in their souls.  
“There, in the Tower”, said Monroe, pulling away abruptly, “is your family. They need you”.  
“Let me take a look at your wounds”, Miles pushed away the blooded curls from Sebastian’s temple as if he hadn’t heard his words.  
Bass gently stopped Miles’s hand.  
“No”, he shook his head lightly. “You go help them. I’ll be okay”.  
And a sad but one filled with light and so long gone smile appeared on his face.  
“I’ll come back this time”.  
“They need you more. Go”.  
“I will come back for you”.  
“Just go already”.  
Miles got up, granted Bass with one last uncertain glance and started walking, and then running, away.  
  
Monroe followed him with his eyes, until he disappeared behind the trees.  
“It won’t be better than this, will it, Miles?”  
He smiled quietly to himself before he staggered up and, leaving a bloody trace behind, limped to where Miles’s gun lay in the dust. He picked it up, put the safety off and brought the barrel to his bleeding temple. Then once again casted a long glance in the direction Miles had left, sighed freely and pulled the trigger.


End file.
